


Neapolitan Ice Cream

by ribbonelle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Masturbation, Multi, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus, Sentinel and Elita are really good friends. <i> Really </i> good friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. bffs being good to each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus, Sentinel and Elita are really good friends. _Really_ good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love them. i love smut. i love smut with these three so this happened! i want sentinel in the middle a lot bc he needs to shut up.

Sentinel had his hands curled before his head, his face hidden between his fists.Elbows and knees on the floor, he looked almost pretty with a blush darkening his faceplates. He lifted his head up eventually, panting out hot air, and Elita really had to appreciate how good he looked like this. Sentinel should look like this all the time.

“Elita,” Sentinel gasped, so desperate that Elita just had to reach out and cup his face. Sentinel pushed his face into the contact, and Elita thumbed the dual appendages at Sentinel’s helm. The noise he made was cute. “Elita—ah. Does he really gotta be here?”

Elita cocked her head, “You don’t want him here?”

Optimus looked up, slowed the rolling of his hips. He had been gripping Sentinel’s hips firmly, pushing into Sentinel with a pace that made the mech whine into the floor. He glanced at Elita, and smiled.

“Harder, damnit,” Sentinel bared his teeth, pushing his aft back, basically answering Elita’s question. He shook his head anyway, and Elita shifted a little closer. She leaned down, her own knees on either side of Sentinel’s head, and Sentinel pressed his face against Elita’s thigh instead.

“He just. He makes a huge mess every  _time._ ”

Elita laughed, tweaking Sentinel’s antennae, “But you’re the one who usually makes the mess, Sentinel.”

“You do,” Optimus said, agreeing. He ran a palm over the curve of Sentinel’s aft, and smacked it, making Sentinel jump, “You’re dripping all over the floor right now, too.”

“Shut up!!” Sentinel twisted violently, “Shut up, Optimus, act like you’re not here.”

The other cadet stopped altogether, frowning down at Sentinel, “That’s not so nice. Maybe I shouldn’t be here, then.”

Sentinel’s arm shot back so fast, trying to grab at Optimus, “No. No no, don’t—frag you, Optimus. Don’t go.”

Elita laughed, “Then you have to play nice. Optimus has been making you feel really good, hasn’t he?”

The look on Sentinel’s face was definitely betrayal, but he seemed to be soothed by Elita’s hands on his face, and relented soon enough, “Yeah. Just. Come on,” his fingers grazed Optimus’ side, before he retracted the limb to support his frame once more, “I want it.”

He moaned when Optimus started thrusting again, the noise full of relief, and Elita had to smile. Sentinel was really lovely like this.

Her own panel slid back, her spike rose, and it caught Sentinel’s attention right away. Sentinel’s faceplates turned even darker, and his optics kept flicking up to Elita’s face, and down at her spike, indecisive. He had loved sucking spike for as long as Elita remembered, though it was always difficult to make him admit it.

“Help me out?” Elita asked, and Sentinel nodded, almost eager. He leaned a little forward and took Elita into his mouth, optics flickering close as he sucked. Elita hummed, caressing his face, “Mm,  _good boy_.”

Optimus noticed Sentinel’s new preoccupation and fucked him harder, making him groan around Elita’s spike. He kept up that rhythm till Sentinel made low, frantic noises, mouth still on Elita; his hands now wrapped around the spike. Sentinel’s frame locked up, his optics flashed bright and he overloaded by gushing transfluid all over the floor. He went limp, slipping off of Elita’s spike to pant against it, frame going lax.

“Again?” Optimus asked tenderly, and Sentinel’s engines revved once in agreement, so blissed out he had a little smile on his face. He didn’t even notice Elita and Optimus high fiving over his frame.


	2. unwanted fantasies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexualizedboat asked for sentinel self-servicing to the thought of optimus fragging him. i love writing sentinel. sometimes i feel like i make him too villainous but. it's sentinel. this is also a little rushed but here it is anyways!

If he had things his way, it wouldn’t be like this.

Sentinel made a disgusted noise, though there was no one around to hear it. It didn’t matter.  _He_ knew he was repulsed, and that was enough. He didn’t want this. If he could control his base function, this would be the first thing he would eliminate.

It was Optimus’ fault, really. It was definitely Optimus’ fault that he had a  _damn_ nice spike.

His optics offlined at the thought of that fragging spike, his thighs spreading wider with involuntary anticipation. That  _spike._

It wasn’t even special, to be frank. Sentinel had bumped uglies with better mechanisms, with far more impressive equipment. Admittedly, the mechs he interfaced most with were Elita One and Optimus Prime, but that didn’t really mean anything. Just friends killing time together. On a regular basis. With Sentinel getting fragged into the next week,  _hard._ His best friends seemed to have a preference for him overloading so many times he’d pass out.

He didn’t mind it so much with Elita. Elita was lovely. Sentinel didn’t mind doing anything with Elita, as long as she smiled at him the way she did, and gave him the little biting kisses she was so fond of. But with Optimus? It was complicated.

Optimus fragged him the most. Ever since they’ve been doing this, Optimus’ spike would be inside him, at least once. The sex was good, too, but it was  _Optimus._ Loser Prime. Supreme nerd.

Sentinel could feel lubricant well up behind his valve cover, and he retracted it with a hiss, the fluid spilling out of him onto the berth. That no good fragger turned him on every time, and it was embarrassing. But Sentinel wasn’t one to deny himself pleasure.

Optimus liked to get all cheesy and lame when they’d start, and Sentinel found himself mimicking what the mech would do; he touched his chest and trailed his hand down his abdomen, and only ran his fingers along the lips of his valve. He was really wet (he usually was), and Optimus would make an appreciative noise. Sentinel made his own, right now.

The ghost of his touch on his valve was frustrating. Optimus would tease like it was revenge, but the promise of eventually giving Sentinel what he wanted was too tempting.  Sentinel toyed with the rim of his valve, never quite penetrating, while his free hand roamed over his chassis. There was this weird fascination with his antennae, so he tweaked that, snarling at nothing afterwards. Optimus once said that he enjoyed Sentinel’s chest the most. Of course the fact irked Sentinel, but it didn’t stop him from crushing Optimus against it whenever he had the chance. (Purely out of spite, really.)

The foreplay was killing Sentinel.

“You scrap of junk metal, ngh,  _touch_ me, damnit!”  

This was sort of ridiculous, how he was holding his own pleasure at bay, but it was what Optimus would do. And loser or not, Optimus revved him up to scorching levels. (He’d never admit it.)

He pushed a finger inside himself and moaned, head tilting to the side. He could almost  _feel_ Optimus leaning close to nibble at his neck, while opening him up slowly with fingers. Optimus would get sickeningly sweet, with his kisses and his low murmurs, and Sentinel would never give in.

“Faster!”  Sentinel spat out, panting, “Are you even trying? You’re bringing me nowhere—oh, oh  _frag—“_ He shoved in two more fingers inside himself, spreading them wide and it was good but not enough, even when he rubbed his thumb over his aching, swollen anterior node. Sentinel needed…

Sometimes, when things were really, really good, Optimus would get pissed off. He’d get rough and demanding, and the thought of an impassioned Optimus sent Sentinel’s libido skyrocketing. In lieu of the thought, Sentinel arched his back, lifting his hips up so his digits would sink in deeper, “Yeah, yeah, like that… _Harder,_ Optimus, or I swear—”

He covered his own mouth, partly because his threat would have been disrupted by a moan; he had touched a particularly conductive node; but also because when angry, Optimus would shut him up. And it was  _hot_ , Sentinel hoped he’d do it always. (He would never admit that, either.)

His hips were jerking up in a rhythm, the pleasure and the thoughts of Optimus coalescing into one vivid, raw fantasy and he opened his mouth because he needed something in it, anything. Fingers would do. Sucking on them almost desperately, Sentinel fucked himself with abandon,  cutting off his visual input so he could focus on picturing Optimus over him, driving relentlessly into his frame.

Sentinel’s moaning was muffled by his fingers, the tips pressing hard on his glossa and he bit down hard when he came, valve clenching sporadically. His legs shook as he held himself up, fingers jammed in deep to extend the high of his climax. He dropped on the berth eventually, pressing his thighs together. The pleasure-ache that spread through his frame made him sigh and he slipped his fingers out of his mouth, bitten and wet.

It kinda hurt. He onlined an optic and inspected the dents on his fingers. He definitely had bitten Optimus a lot harder than this. The idea of Optimus lamenting over damaged digits were too good to pass up, though, and Sentinel snickered to himself.

He had just gotten off to Optimus Prime. Gross. It wasn’t even as satisfying as the real thing.

“Whatever,” Sentinel mumbled, pulling his hand out of his valve with something like distaste. He wiped his hand on the berth; he’ll deal with it tomorrow; and offlined his optics again. The best thing about doing things like this alone was that he could pretend it never happened.

And if that failed? He was meeting Optimus tomorrow, anyway.


End file.
